


How Did I Get Here

by ChasingRabbits



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic, Family Issues, First Time, Kid Fic, M/M, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 14:25:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChasingRabbits/pseuds/ChasingRabbits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean wakes up in his bed feeling very, very odd. Though his boyfriend and son are where he left them, he can't quite shake the feeling that something isn't right. </p>
<p>Worst of all, he can't quite wrap his head around the fact that this is his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Did I Get Here

**Author's Note:**

> "You may ask yourself, what is that beautiful house?  
> You may ask yourself, where does that highway lead to?  
> You may ask yourself, am I right, am I wrong?  
> You may say to yourself, my god, what have I done?"
> 
> Once In a Lifetime- Talking Heads

Dean wakes up knowing only one thing: he needs to make breakfast.

The where and the why of the situation are still fuzzy to him. He’s home, he thinks, though isn’t sure why he wouldn’t recognize his own home. It’s his, it has to be. That’s his dresser over there, and his boots by the wall. These sheets are his, plaid flannel and oh-so soft.

That carpet is definitely his, he remembers it being a massive point of contention when they were picking a place. Call him old fashioned or whatever, but hardwood floors don’t say ‘home’ like a plushy carpet does.

“Eugh,” Dean wrinkles his nose at himself. Did he really just think all that?

Behind the door across the room, the shower runs, and Dean smiles. Affection floods his every fiber, and he throws his legs over the edge of the bed, ready to start the day.

He whistles to himself as he strolls down the hallway and knocks on the second door to the left, though he can’t quite place why he does so.

“Up and at ‘em, babycakes,” he catches himself saying.

Strange, until he gets a very annoyed, “Don’t call me that,” in response.

Dean rolls his eyes. Jack can be such a fucking pill sometimes.

He walks out to the kitchen and pulls out everything he needs to whip up a quick batch of pancakes. Surprisingly, he makes a pretty decent stack of hotcakes.

Wait, why is that surprising? He does it all the time.

He hears the telltale squeak of Jack’s door hinges—he’s gotta remember to pick up some more WD-40 today—and Jack shuffles out to the kitchen table in his pajamas. His Batman bottoms are worn thin, and his Pink Floyd t-shirt, an old one of Dean’s, is about eight sizes too big for his skinny little frame.

His dark hair sticks up in every direction, his light eyes still heavily lidded with sleep. Dean sets a plate down in front of him and declares, “Pancakes for my babycakes.”

Just to see the look of utter devastation on his son’s face at the agreeably horrid term of endearment.

“Dad,” Jack groans, but still digs into his pancakes all the same.

“You finish all your homework?” Dean asks, as he ladles another pancake onto the griddle.

“Checked it all last night,” Jack returns.

“What about that book report?” Dean turns, waiting for the batter to bubble, and he catches Jack roll his eyes. “Hey, I’m not kidding. You’re too smart to be dicking around with shit you could finish in your sleep.”

“Huh. Good morning to everyone too, then.”

Dean turns, about to ask if he should make another plate of pancakes, and stills.

Castiel grabs a carton of milk out of the fridge.

The moment he sees Dean, he pauses too.

Surprise... surprise… Why the hell is Dean so surprised to see his boyfriend in their kitchen?

Castiel appears to be asking himself the same thing.

“Good morning,” Castiel offers once more, and Dean shakes himself out of it. Today has already been very strange, and it’s not even eight o’clock.

“’morning,” Dean greets him.

“Hey, dad,” Jack replies through a mouthful of hotcakes. Dean watches him grab the syrup and drown his breakfast.

“Your pancake is burning,” Castiel points out helpfully, and Dean swears.

The underside is a few shades off of coal, but that’s okay, he guesses. He’ll just eat the burnt ones.

“Are you all right?” Castiel asks, coming to put his hands on Dean’s shoulders. It feels wonderfully familiar and somehow foreign all at once.

Still, Dean nods and Castiel nods back at him.

He pecks a kiss to his lips.

Why does that make Dean’s stomach drop out, like he’s a twelve-year-old playing spin the bottle for the first time?

Jack makes a gagging noise from the table.

“Try a little less syrup next time, Buddy the Elf,” Dean snatches the syrup from the table and places it back up on the kitchen counter.

Castiel chuckles as he pours himself a cup of coffee, and Dean smiles. He’s always liked making Castiel laugh.

Overwhelmed by another rush of affection, Dean gets Castiel’s coffee out of the way and dips in to kiss him.

Again, with the feeling like a kid.

Dean has done this thousands of times, hasn’t he? An hour into their first date, and then several times through the following hour, and so many times since then.

And yet there’s a weird rush of relief in the pit of his stomach, a feeling that coincides most accurately with _finally_.

“Hey!” Jack calls. “I thought everyone agreed on _no tongue in front of the minor_. Uncle Sam drafted it up in writing for me, don’t make me go get it.”

Speaking of pains in the ass.

That’s right, they live up in Eureka, a few hours away from where Sam settled down in San Jose after he got done with Stanford. It’s a drive, but Dean likes driving at least, and it’s worth it to see his little brother fairly regularly.

He’s the only one Jack seems to like, these days.

“Get dressed, Jack,” Castiel commands softly and looks at his watch. “We have to leave in fifteen minutes.”

Jack manages to hold back his eye roll as he pushes himself away from the table and stands. He doesn’t clear his plate, but Dean does so out of habit.

When did clearing dishes become habitual?

“What time are you going in?” asks Castiel over the lip of his coffee mug.

“Not until nine,” Dean yawns against his wrist, wondering just why he knows the answer to that. “Staying a little later and closing up, though. Ellen’s and Bobby’s anniversary tonight, he wants to go home early.”

Wait.

Bobby shouldn’t be here.

Bobby doesn’t even live in the damn state.

No, Dean shakes his head, that’s crazy. Bobby was running his auto body shop way before Dean and Cas even blew into town.

Why is _Sioux Falls_ stuck in his brain?

“Dean, are you okay?” Castiel asks again.

“I’m fine, Cas,” Dean braces his hands on the edge of the sink. He doesn’t feel sick, he isn’t mad, angry, irritated, or anything like he is when Castiel usually asks this of him.

“All right,” Castiel brings his hand up to stroke at the soft hairs on Dean’s temple. Dean leans into the touch, and Cas suggests, “You were tossing and turning last night.”

“Shit,” Dean sighs. “Did I keep you up?”

“It’s fine,” Castiel lifts his cup of coffee. “I tried to wake you, but you wouldn’t come out of it.”

There’s a rush of guilt in his chest, knowing that he kept Cas awake. Cas loves his sleep, so much so that he’ll go to bed an hour before Dean and Jack some nights, just to get as much sleep as he can.

Plus, teaching middle school history requires every last brain cell one has to be firing at maximum efficiency.

Jack comes back out, dressed in his jeans and one of Dean’s old Rush t-shirts, backpack slung over his shoulder and head down as he scrolls through the songs on his iPod.

Jack is tall and gangly, like Sam, and serious-faced, like Cas. But when he looks up at Dean, the light catches him in such a way that Dean can’t help but notice how similar their faces are.

How does that work?

“Dad, quit staring, you’re creeping me out,” Jack scowls.

“Oh,” Dean looks to Castiel. “You hear that? I’m creeping him out.”

Castiel chuckles and drinks down another mouthful of coffee.

“Maybe you’re creepin’ me out with all this goin’ on,” Dean gestures to Jack. “Since when the hell are sixth-graders so adult? Sixth grade, I’m pretty sure I was…”

He searches back through his muddled memories, but he can’t find anything.

Almost as though he’d never even been in sixth grade at all.

“Oh, good,” Jack puts in one of his earbuds, “Never too early to know you have a genetic predisposition for dementia.”

“Hey,” Cas smacks a warning on Jack’s shoulder as he walks by. Jack turns around and sticks out his tongue.

“Watch it,” Dean issues his own warning, but Jack is already out the door. Castiel smirks and finishes his coffee.

“Well, this’ll be amusing,” he determines, and gives Dean another kiss. When he pulls back, Dean grins and pulls him back in.

“Have a good day,” he hums, and grins when Castiel smiles back at him. Warm, contented, like he can’t quite believe that Dean would even think to kiss him back in the first place.

But they’ve been together for fifteen years, right? Why wouldn’t Dean kiss him back?

God’s honest truth, he still can’t believe Cas would even let him kiss him to begin with. Which is probably how they end up with Dean perched on the counter, and Castiel kissing the goddamned breath from his lungs.

“Jesus,” Dean holds tight onto Cas’ shirt.

“Indeed,” Cas nods and looks up at him. “I think—I think I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Yeah,” Dean lets out a breath, though what weird way to phrase it, _I think I’ve gotta go_. “See you tonight,” he says and gives Cas a wave as he grabs his bag and heads out the door.

He can’t control the nerves jittering through his body, and so for a little while all he can do is just sit. This is his life, he knows it is. This is the home he and Castiel have made for themselves, where they brought Jack home for the first time, where they’ve raised him.

Maybe a shower will help clear up his head.

The bathroom is still humid from Cas’ shower, the smell of clean, masculine soap hanging in the air. It’s concentrated Cas, this smell, and it does things to him.

South of the border, boner-type things.

Shit, he doesn’t have time for this right now.  He strips down to his birthday suit and catches himself in the mirror.

The tattoo on his chest… it’s initials—Jack’s initials. Why does he think it should be something else?

He shakes himself out of it and steps into the shower. Whatever this funk is, whatever the hell is gumming up his brain and making him think he’s going crazy, he needs to snap out of it. There’s a strange familiarity that pulses in his brain, something like déjà vu telling him that he’s lived this, all of this, just in a different way.

Here’s to a cup of coffee and a pancake on the go to help his brain level out.

He gets to work with a few minutes to spare and pours himself another cup of coffee in the kitchenette in Bobby’s office.

It’s nothing compared to the nice coffee Cas insists on buying, but it gets the job done.

First thing he has to take care of today is that damn transmission leak he didn’t get to yesterday before he left. With a resigned sigh he casts a last look at his phone and smiles. There’s a text from Cas that reads, _‘In the running for most embarrassing parent. Licked thumb and wiped imaginary smudge off his cheek in front of his friends.’_

Dean writes back, _‘In front of his boys? That’s cold-blooded’,_ and tucks his phone back in his pocket.

“Well, you’re all sunshine this mornin’,” Bobby remarks as Dean enters into the main part of the garage. Nine in the morning and Bobby is already covered in grease.

Yep, that feels right.

“You know me,” Dean shrugs. “Mister Happy.”

Bobby actually laughs at that, and Dean’s smile broadens.

Weirdness of the morning aside, it’s having the potential to turn into a pretty decent day. He fixes the transmission with little issue, and helps a wispy looking woman with long, braided hair get her ancient VW Bus up and running.

It’s all going fine until his cell phone starts blaring while he’s on break.

A picture of Jack flashes up on the screen, passed out in the back of the car, cheek pressed against the window. Dean answers, “Jack? What’s wrong?”

“Why do you always assume something’s wrong?” asks Jack.

“Because it’s two o’clock and you’re supposed to be in school,” Dean sits up on the break room couch. “What’s going on?”

Jack draws in a shaky breath, and, yeah, Dean does not like the sound of that.

“I don’t know what happened,” Jack begins. “I… I kinda cut school with my friends. Um. Could you just come to the mall and get me?”

Dean sighs into the phone, “Yeah, I’ll be right there.”

At least Bobby understands when it comes to Dean and his family. No griping or groaning the numerous times Dean has had to stay home with the kid when he’s sick, or pick him up from school.

“I’ll call Jose and see if he can close up,” Bobby waves him off. “Now go on, before I kick your sorry ass out, y’idjit.”

Thankfully, Eureka is small enough that he can get to Bayshore Mall quickly. It’s raining, because when is it not in this place, but he parks and rushes into the mall as fast as he can. Jack didn’t say where he’d be, but being that Jack is some unholy combination of him and Cas, he bets that the food court is his best bet.

Sure enough, Jack sits just outside the Burger King, stuffing his face with a burger.

“Y’know, we give you an allowance so you can spend it wisely,” says Dean as he sits across from his son. “Not so you can blow it all on cheap burgers.”

Jack’s shoulders sag even further, and he looks down at his tray.

“They just make me happy,” says Jack, and he turns that puppy dog face up at Dean.

He gets a flash, an echo of Cas’ voice (but not Cas’ voice?) saying something like the same thing.

But that’s not a memory he has, is it?

“Well,” Dean clears his throat, pushing the strange aside for now. “Can’t argue with that, I suppose.”

Jack’s fingers curl into the soft bun.

“Why aren’t you yelling at me?” he asks.

“I don’t yell,” Dean frowns and picks the carton of French fries off of Jack’s tray. “And I’m a high school dropout. I know what it’s like not to want to be in school. Looks like you’ve got a little bit more of a conscience than I did, though.”

“They started stealing stuff,” Jack confesses under his breath. “I didn’t know they would, and—they wanted me to do it too. And I said I couldn’t, and they laughed at me, so I left.”

Dean nods, taking in the whole story. When he was Jack’s age, he was eyeballs deep in stolen goods. Mostly, it was stuff for him and Sam, food and amenities their dad had spaced on buying. He hadn’t thought twice about it.

“Strike that,” he clears his throat. “A hell of a lot more of a conscience than I did. I’m astonished, actually.”

Jack rolls his eyes.

“I still skipped school,” he mutters.

“Well, why’d you do that?” Dean asks.

“The guys were making fun of me for dad being, y’know,” Jack shrugs. “My dad.”

“Ah,” Dean scrubs his face with his hands. “Well, we knew this was gonna happen, right? New schools aren’t easy to begin with, but when your dad is a teacher there it’s gotta feel impossible.”

“Tell me about it,” Jack shakes his head and takes another bite of his burger. “He walked up to me and licked his finger and _wiped my face_ with it in front of my friends.”

It was funny until now, when Dean can see the utter mortification plaguing his kid. Dean didn’t really have friends until he met Cas, and with a dad like his you learned quickly that embarrassment and shame have no place in your life.

“Yeah, I’ll talk to him about that,” Dean just nods. “That was ice cold. But, y’know, dad’s gotta work.”

“I know,” Jack sighs.

“And you gotta go to school,” Dean continues.

“I _know_.”

“So we’ve gotta find some middle ground here,” Dean finishes off the fries. “Dad knows it’s hard for you being at school with him, okay? He knows that. Okay, he slipped up today, but cut him some slack. You’re his kid, and all the stupid, goofy mistakes kids make at school? He’s gotta watch you make those every day and actively not get involved. You know every time he has a room parent moment he gets me on the horn and has _me_ come down and complain?”

Jack wrinkles his nose, “Really?”

“Yeah,” Dean nods. “It’s a pain in the ass. But I put up with it because I love him.”

The words roll around like mercury on his tongue. Metallic and heavy and _poison_. They are goddamned _poisonous_ words and Dean is just throwing them around like they’re made of fucking sunshine and rainbows.

“And I love you,” Dean hears himself say. “So I put up with this.”

He gestures to the abandoned mall around them, and Jack’s lips quirk up in a smile.

“Am I grounded?” Jack asks after another moment.

“Hmm,” Dean ponders. “I’ll talk to dad when he gets home, see what he has to say about all this.”

“Crap,” Jack mutters. “He’s a hard-ass.”

Dean snorts, and so Jack continues, “Well he is!”

“Hey, no bitching about your dad,” Dean warns. “We’re a united front.”

Plus, Cas knows that Dean has a soft spot for the kid about nine miles wide. He’s not good with the firm hand stuff, that’s more Cas’ arena. Cas had the firmer hand from his parents growing up, has a better sense of right and wrong than Dean does.

Dean is there for the games of catch, for teaching Jack how to stick up for himself, for getting him at the mall when he’s skipped school, when he should be at work.

Dean is the fun dad.

“Come on,” Dean drums his knuckles on the table. “We’re headed home. And for right now, you’re in a holding cell.”

“What?” Jack raises an eyebrow.

“Temporarily on lockdown until further notice,” Dean explains. “Up and in the car, c’mon.”

Jack doesn’t need to be told again. He clears his tray and grabs his backpack, following Dean out to the car like a dog with its damn tail between its legs.

The drive back home is spent in silence, and while Dean wants nothing more than to turn on the radio, he keeps the silence.

This is serious, and Jack has to know that.

But Dean falters when they get home, and before Jack can trudge down the hall into his room, Dean pulls him in for a hug.

“I’m proud of you,” he says. “Takes guts to stand up to your friends.”

“’kay,” Jack replies from where he’s squished against Dean, but Dean doesn’t want to let him go yet. Everything about this kid is awesome, from the way he wears his hair to the way he talks about his comic books. He’s a pain too, sure, but it’s nothing compared to what an utter fucking joy he can be under all of that.

“Dad, you’re hurting me,” Jack wheezes, and Dean releases him.

“You’re a good kid, Johnny,” Dean gives him a smile.

“Dad, gross!” Jack sticks out his tongue. “No one’s called me Johnny since kindergarten. It’s such a baby name.”

He slams his door behind him, but Dean calls after him anyway, “I’m your father, you’re my baby forever!”

Jack opens his door again and pokes his head out, “You’re so lame.”

“What, you never wondered where you got it from?” Dean asks.

That ends the conversation very quickly.

Dean calls Bobby, just to make sure he doesn’t need him for the rest of the day, only to be met with, “Stay the hell home and take care of your kid, we’re fine here.”

With his kid barricaded in his room, Dean decides he’s better off being useful elsewhere. He sends a text to Cas, _‘intercepted the kid. he’s home with me. talk when you get home’_ and checks the ever growing list of shit he has to do around the house.

 He unclogs the sink in the bathroom and changes the oil in his car.  He can’t get to the gutters or mow the lawn since it’s still raining outside, but he can clean the gunk out from behind the fridge.

It’s a productive afternoon, which Dean decides to celebrate with a long, hard nap. He collapses on Cas’ side of the bed and hugs his pillow to his chest.

It doesn’t even smell like Cas in this bed, it smells like the two of them.

Dean cracks a smile.

“So, this is how the other half lives,” comes Cas’ voice however long after. Dean rolls over and spreads out all over the bed, grinning like a fucking idiot.

Because Cas is here.

And Cas is his.

“Asthma attack?”

“No.”

“Is he sick again?”

“No,” Dean pushes himself up onto his elbows. “He ditched.”

Cas’ face goes from one of concern, to confusion, and then to what can only be described as violated.

“He ditched school?” he looks like he can’t even wrap his tongue around the words.

“Hey, calm down, Mr. Cunningham,” Dean holds up a hand. “He only ditched because his friends were making fun of him for his daddy embarrassing him at school.”

Castiel’s rage blinks out of existence, and he falters.

“Well,” he searches for the right words. “Shit.”

Dean chuckles, “Pretty much.”

“I’d better apologize,” Cas sighs and leans against the closet door.

“Eh, just a sec,” Dean sits up all the way. “There’s more.”

“Oh, boy.”

“He and his buddies went to the mall. I guess they were shoplifting, Jack refused, and I found him alone at Burger King trying to drown his sorrows in a Whopper.”

Cas frowns, “If you’re going to attempt to drown yourself, shouldn’t you at least do it in some form of liquid?”

“It’s an expression, Cas,” Dean explains.

“Oh, right,” Cas frowns. “I knew that, right? I knew that.”

“Anyway, I told him I’d talk to you before I issued punishment,” Dean grabs the back of his neck. “Grounded, right?”

“Undoubtedly,” Cas agrees. “A week should do it.”

“A whole week?” Dean’s eyebrows go up. “C’mon, he didn’t steal anything with those little bastards, that’s at least something, right?”

“Right,” Castiel nods, hand on the door knob. “Two weeks off for that, and another week because… well, because I suppose it is my fault he thought to ditch in the first place.”

“Cas, come on,” Dean follows him down the hall, continuing in hushed tones, “The weekend. I swear, he’s already beating himself up about this way more than he should.”

“He did something wrong, Dean,” Castiel explains, voice low as they stop outside Jack’s room. “You do something wrong, you face the consequences. You do something right, you get rewarded. That’s how my parents did it, and you’ll notice it worked out pretty well.”

“Or you get Lucifer,” Dean points out, and Castiel jabs him in the side for that. Dean jabs him back, and Castiel slaps his hand away before they can go in for another round.

He presses the door open slowly, and he falters.

Jack is curled up on his bed, fast asleep. His math book is open in front of him, his pencil gripped loosely in his hand.

“Fine,” Castiel concedes. “Just through the weekend.”

He shuts the door and rubs his temples as he and Dean walk out into the kitchen. Dean grabs a beer for the both of them, and Castiel takes a long sip.

“So,” he begins after a moment. “Our son is friends with delinquents. That’s less than desirable.”

“Speaking as a former delinquent myself, yeah,” Dean nods. “We’re fucked if he doesn’t wise up.”

“I’ve gotta hide my pot better,” Cas realizes, and then frowns. “Do I smoke pot?”

Castiel was stoned for the better part of their first year together, and yet it does seem like a strange thing for him to do.

“I think so,” Dean nods, and so Castiel nods too.

“I do… I really, really like it,” he has another realization. Dean nods and wraps an arm around his shoulders.

“I know you do, baby,” he presses a kiss into Cas’ neck. And then they’re back to kissing—making out like a couple of teenagers, if you want to get technical—and god, Dean wonders if this will ever get old.

If it hasn’t after this long, it probably won’t ever.

Castiel pulls him along back into their bedroom. He locks the door behind him before he pushes Dean back down onto their bed. Dean props himself up as Cas pulls at his tie and unbuttons his shirt, and crap, Dean has to reach down and grab himself.

He always figured it was some sort of divine magnetism that drew him into Cas, that his attraction was nothing more than a moth’s attraction to a giant, blinding, skyscraper-sized flame, but no.

No, his attraction was to Castiel, and whatever form Castiel came in. He could come to Dean as a talking anteater and still be the sexiest being in existence.

Dean startles upright then, Cas’ face nearly colliding with his as he crawls up Dean’s body, and they stare at each other.

There’s a metric motherfucking shit-ton going on in his brain right now. Cas has always been just this—a man. There are no other forms, there is nothing else he is.

Dean reaches up and pushes one sleeve off of  Castiel’s shoulders, and then the other, leaving him in just his undershirt.

Dean gets rid of that too, and lets out a low whistle.

“Goddamn,” he hears himself choke around the words. Castiel responds by sucking a hickey into his neck, like they’re fourteen fucking years old, and Dean wraps his arms around Castiel, trying to kiss him back.

“Fuck, Cas, slow down,” Dean chuckles. “We got time.”

“I know,” Cas breathes against him. “I just can’t stop touching you. Feels good.”

“Yeah,” Dean realizes. “Yeah, it does.”

He pushes his hands up Castiel’s shirt and pulls it over his head, and Castiel does the same. Castiel grins down at him, a dweeby giggle escaping his throat before he ducks down and starts mouthing over Dean’s chest. Dean moans softly into it. Cas’ lips are soft, but the stubble against his skin is something new and exciting, and it makes Dean’s cock ache with arousal.  

Cas must feel it, because he grinds his erection right into Dean’s, and Dean chokes under the attention.

God, he’s wanted this for so long, and he has it. He finally has it.

His eyes shoot open as both he and Cas go still.

They look at one another, and Cas asks, “Have we done this before?”

Dean breathes his relief, but that doesn’t explain this away.

“We had to’ve,” Dean gulps. “Right?”

“One would think,” Cas considers. “Hang on.”

He kisses Dean again, and Dean threads his fingers through Cas’ hair and kisses back.

“It feels new, though,” Cas murmurs. “Right?”

“Yeah,” Dean nods, and then runs his hands up Cas’ sides. “You still wanna?”

“Yes,” Castiel nods, and then surges back down to run his teeth over Dean’s jaw and down his throat.

Dean moans.

“I like that noise,” Cas grins. “Do you make more of them?”

Dean laughs and crushes Cas close against him. God, this is good.

“I like that noise too,” Cas mumbles into his skin, and Dean breaks out into an honest to god grin.

Cas’ lips flutter down over his chest, worshipping every nook and cranny of Dean’s torso. Dean’s breath hitches, but he doesn’t silence himself. If Castiel likes the noises he makes, he’ll make them forever.

Cas has got him out of his jeans before he can even process it, his erection tenting his boxers and leaving Castiel looking nothing short of amazed. Cas hooks his fingers under the waistband of his boxers, about to tug them off before Dean interjects, “Jesus, Cas share some of the fuckin’ wealth.”

Cas cocks his head, so Dean instructs, “Pants off, stud.”

“Oh, right,” Cas catches up, and quickly does away with his khakis. His cock strains at the cotton of his boxer briefs, a wet patch settled just over the tip, and Dean’s mouth goes dry.

“C’mere,” Dean grins, and shifts them so that Cas is flat on his back. Dean tries to repay in kind the attention that Cas paid him, but they’re both too impatient. Cas rolls his hips into Dean’s, and fuck, this has gone too far.

Dean pulls down Castiel’s underwear and closes a hand over his erection.

“Oh, wow,” Cas shuts his eyes, and Dean grins.

“Good?”

Castiel nods and anchors himself on Dean’s shoulders.

“What do you want?” Dean presses a kiss to Castiel’s chin, swiping his thumb through the bead of precome at the tip of his cock. Cas whimpers.

“Fuck me?” he guesses, going through his rolodex of normal human behaviors. “Yes, fuck me.”

“You sure?” Dean’s hand stills, and Castiel moans.

He nods fervently.

“Okay, okay,” Dean nods and looks up. They keep the condoms and lube and toys in the nightstand on Dean’s side of the bed.

They sure have a lot of toys for people who don’t feel that they’ve ever done this before.

“Hey,” Cas clips from his place on the bed, and Dean looks back. “Underwear.”

Dean grins back and shimmies out of his boxers. He’s ridiculously hard, and Castiel lights up at the sight. He shifts up to his knees and brings Dean into another kiss, pressing their flushed, sweaty chests together. They kind of stick, and Dean laughs, and because Dean laughs so does Cas.

“Lie back,” Dean presses a kiss to Cas’ forehead, and Cas complies.

Dean’s done this with girls once or twice. Drunken though the encounters may have been, he’s always been careful. He pops open the lube and coats his fingers generously.

Cas is tight, but his nerves appear to be nonexistent. He just arches into Dean’s touch and lets him stretch him open.

Fuck, Cas is gorgeous like this. His hair sticks up in every direction, his face pulled up in a goofy grin that Dean just has to kiss. As his fingers stretch and press, he catches something that makes Cas lose his breath and dig his fingernails into Dean’s shoulders.

“Now, Dean,” Cas whimpers. “Dean, I need you to fuck me _now_.”

“Aye-aye, captain,” Dean nips at his chin, and Castiel arches up into him.

Dean has never had so much trouble with a condom, but he just tells himself that his fingers are slippery and that it’s fucking _Cas_ , and Cas thinks the sun shines out of his ass no matter what he does.

Even if he can’t open a condom for shit.

Castiel finally has to do it, and after quick instructions rolls it over Dean.

“You let me know if you need me to slow down or stop or anything like that,” Dean murmurs, and Castiel rolls his eyes.

“I have to do everything,” he mutters, and without warning flips them so Dean is on his back. Cas grabs his cock by the base and, holy mother of _fuck_ , sinks down on it.

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean chokes.

“I assure you, Jesus has nothing to do with this,” Cas grunts, brows pinched in concentration.

Dean thrusts up in retaliation, and Cas sucks in a hiss through his teeth.

“Ass,” Castiel spits.

Dean grins, and asks, “Okay?”

“Shut _up_ , Dean,” Castiel presses his shoulders into the bed. “Just… fuck me, please.”

Dean doesn’t have to be told twice. He reaches down and grabs two handfuls of Castiel’s ass in his hands, kneading as Castiel rises up and sinks back down.

Fuck, that feels so good.

The rhythm is a slow build, but as soon as they fall into it it’s… Dean can’t even describe it. His mind whites out like it always does in the middle of a good fuck, but it’s Cas here with him too. And when they see each other they smile, they kiss and they nip and they suck, getting as close as they can.

Cas grabs his erection, and jesus, that is an unholy fucking image right there. Cas above him, jerking himself off as he rides Dean’s cock into the goddamned sunset. Dean hiccups and fees his toes curl.

“Hang on, baby,” Dean grips Cas’ hips and shifts so he can thrust up into him. Cas cries out and hangs his head, hand working furiously over himself as Dean fucks him.

When Cas comes, he’s fucking loud. Yeah, Dean would remember if they’d ever done this before. He’d fucking remember Castiel gripping his hair and all but fucking shouting as he spills his come all over Dean’s chest and stomach.

And yeah, Dean can’t be expected to last after that. He snaps his hips up a few more times before his orgasm hits him full force, pulsing through him. Cas cradles his face in his hands, kisses him al the way through it, and fuck it, Dean is goddamned _whimpering_ by the end of it.

“Fuck,” Dean screws his eyes shut as Cas pulls off of him and rolls over beside him. “Fuck that was hot.”

“Damn sexy,” Cas agrees. “As much as I hate to admit it, your arrogance is hardly misplaced when it comes to sexual intercourse.”

“And you killed it,” Dean sighs. “It’s dead. Rest in Peace, this moment.”

It takes a moment, but Cas frowns and jabs him in the side. Dean laughs and loops an arm around Cas’ shoulders, pressing kiss after kiss into the side of his face and his damp, sweaty hair.

Yes, this is where he belongs, right here.

Right now.

**oo**

 

Jack is less than pleased with being grounded into the weekend. He tries to negotiate out of it, pleading because _Doctor Who is on Saturday_ , but Cas doesn’t budge, and so neither does Dean. 

“It’s already Thursday,” Dean reminds him. “You’ll be sprung before you know it.”

Jack rolls his eyes, and Dean does threaten that he’s going to lose them if he’s not careful.

Meanwhile Dean lets himself fall into it with Cas. Even if there’s this odd sense of displacement that won’t go away, wrapping himself around Cas, sleeping with him and fucking him and fucking eating _breakfast_ with him feels more like a home than anything he’s ever had.

It’s an easy life, living here. Dean gets to make his family breakfast and make sure Jack does his homework and here he pulls Bobby out from under the cars that give him more trouble than they’re worth.

On Saturday night, Cas and Jack both fall asleep on the couch. Dean only left to take a shower after he got done with his shift, and came back to Jack passed out on Cas’ lap, and Cas dozed off with his head propped up against his hand.

Dean stares at the scene for a few minutes and concludes, yes, this is his home. It has to be. He couldn’t be feeling this deeply if it wasn’t.

On Sunday, Dean knocks on Jack’s door and lets himself in.

Jack is on his bed, reading.

“Up and at ‘em, kid,” Dean leans against the doorjamb, and actually gets a look at Jack’s room. It’s messy, with socks everywhere and t-shirts stuffed up in places they don’t belong, but he has a mountain of books that has Castiel written all over it. His posters are all skewed—an Angus Young poster above his bed and an Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade poster hanging above his desk.

“I’m grounded,” Jack explains back. “I’m punishing myself with,” he peers at the title, “ _Catcher in the Rye_. Why did dad give me this?”

“Maybe he knew you’d need punishing one day,” Dean shrugs. “Come on, let’s go out to the park. You could use some fresh air.”

Jack rolls his eyes but slides out of bed and shoos Dean so he can get dressed.

“You’re in a good mood,” Cas remarks over his cup of coffee. He scans the morning paper, already dressed for the day in remarkably normal clothing. Dean tells himself that this is what Cas wears every day, that it’s hardly out of the ordinary for him to be in jeans and a t-shirt.

Dean comes up behind him and wraps his arms around his waist.

“Dean,” Castiel chuckles, and Dean presses a series of kisses to his jaw, his ear, and down his neck.

“I’m happy,” Dean realizes aloud. “Really fuckin’ happy, actually.”

“That’s wonderful, Dean,” Cas hums, and Dean just stays there, right there, with his nose pressed against the nape of Cas’ neck.

“Ew,” Jack declares as he comes into the kitchen, and Dean and Cas pull away from each other. “So why do I get to go out if I’m grounded?” he asks.

“’cause we’re going with you,” Dean claps him on the shoulder. “And we’re due for a little family fun, don’t you think?”

“For the love of god,” Jack rolls his eyes.

“I have to agree,” Cas winces. “That was pretty lame.”

Jack lets out a laugh, and Castiel’s face breaks out in a smile of pride.

Dean opens the front door but none of them get even a step outside.

“Uncle Gabe!” Jack exclaims and pushes past his dads to get to the smarmiest angel dick that the world has ever seen.

“Howdy do, boys,” Gabriel gives them a wave, and Cas steps in front of Dean.

Everything comes rushing back. Dean’s memories, his real memories, hit him so hard he actually staggers back a few paces. If it’s done the same to Cas, he doesn’t show it. He reaches a hand back to steady Dean instead, and grips him tight as Gabriel freezes everything around them.

Jack stands stock still, frozen, staring in confusion at them.

“Tell me,” Gabriel strides into the house. “Whaddya think of your new digs?”

Dean’s eyebrows fly up.

“You did this?” his voice comes out louder than he intended, and Cas’ grip on his arm tightens.

Fuck, Castiel.

He’s—he’s been having sex with Castiel. And sleeping with him, and—

And none of it was real.

“You sick son of a bitch!” Dean makes a charge for him but Castiel pulls him back. Adrenaline pumps through Dean’s body, and honest to god he could fucking hurl a semi at this smug motherfucker.

“I thought you were dead, Gabriel,” Castiel’s voice is steady, but that’s the don’t-fuck-with-me tone that makes Dean’s heart hammer hard.

“Funny, I could say the same about you,” Gabriel sits on the arm of the couch.

“Don’t sit there,” Castiel replies, apparently out of habit more than anything, and Gabriel raises an eyebrow.

“Fuck it,” he shrugs then. “I break it, I make you a new one. How’s that sound?”

Dean’s gut fills with molten hot lead.

“Oh, I get it,” he spits. “TV Land all the fuck over again, huh? Well, you got me, pal, what’s the fucking lesson this time?”

“Whoa-whoa- _whoa_ ,” Gabriel extends his hands in front of him, standing once more. “Let’s just hit the brakes on the agro train, okay?”

“Gabriel,” Castiel warns sharply.

Gabriel rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest, not unlike the way Jack does every time Dean and Cas ask him to pick up his clothes or do the dishes.

“Let’s see,” Gabriel taps his chin. “Set you two up playing house with a kid… what oh _what_ could be the lesson there?”

“That’s it,” Dean declares. “Baby, mojo me up a fuckin’ archangel sword, I’m gankin’ this motherfucker. And this time, when you go you better pray to your daddy that whatever it is that keeps resurrecting you dicks keeps it wrapped the fuck up and leaves you dead.”

Dean’s a little dizzy by the end of that rant, but it’s okay. He feels a little better.

At least, he does until he realizes that both Cas and Gabriel are staring at him like he’s from another planet.

“Well, first of all, I can’t just mojo up an archangel sword,” Cas frowns. “And second,” he cocks his head. “ _Baby_?”

Dean’s face colors at that.

Fuck, he didn’t actually say that, did he?

“Wait,” his brain floods back with the past few days here.

Here with Cas and with Jack.

“You think I have feelings for Cas?”

“Hey, give me some credit here,” Gabriel looks at one of Jack’s trophies on the mantle. “I happen to believe the feeling is mutual. Wow, I made this kid a fucking nerd. _First place in a spelling bee?_ I was three sheets to the fucking wind the other night, sorry about that.”

And then the crushing realization actually hits and sinks in.

_None of this is real._

Wow, why does that hurt so much?

“It hurts because you want this so much, dipshit,” Gabriel heralds, and sets the trophy back down. “And why wouldn’t you? I tell ya, this is the life. Beautiful location, job you love, kid’s a little moody, but what can you do? And best of all, you’re shacked up with my bro here, and trust me when I say, of all my brothers? He is the least chodely of all the chodes.”

Dean looks at Castiel and swallows hard.

And goddamn, even as pissed as he is, he sees Castiel look back at him and all he wants to do is pull him into his arms and hold him until this all goes away.

“You know this was cruel, Gabriel,” Castiel states more than asks, and Dean crosses his arms over his stomach. He feels dirty, like he’s just chugged half a gallon of sewage.

He looks back at Jack.

Perfectly engineered to look like a mish-mash of him and Cas.

"Is he real?" Dean asks, interrupting Cas and Gabriel.

“Well, with the question of what’s real and what isn’t, you toe a pretty fine philosophical line—ow!”

Dean looks back just in time to see Cas has tackled Gabriel to the ground, pinning him face first into the carpet.

“Hey, mindthe meat, dickhead,” Gabriel tries to wriggle away. “I’m gonna get rug burn all over this thing.”

Castiel looks up at Dean.

“Smart move, going with the carpet,” he says.

“Cas, that wasn’t real,” Dean rolls his eyes and looks back at Jack. “None of it’s real.”

“Dean,” Cas sighs and releases Gabriel, moving instead to stand beside Dean.

“I’m fine,” says Gabriel.

“Shut up, Gabriel,” Castiel commands, not looking away from Dean. “Dean, please answer honestly. Is this what you want?”

Dean swallows hard and looks down at his feet.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs.

“Hey, a snap of my fingers and you guys are back in it,” says Gabriel. “No strings attached.”

“Yeah, and what?” Dean shoots back. “Leave us drooling in some warehouse out in the middle of BFE? No thanks.”

“But Dean—“

“And you know what? No,” Dean pushes past Cas and comes up close on Gabriel. “No, this isn’t what I want ‘cause I know I can’t fucking have it. I wasn’t in the life here, I wasn’t a hunter. I fixed cars. And you threw this one into goddamn shark infested waters teaching history to prepubescent dickbag tweens—”

“I was actually more adept at tatthan I thought,” Castiel pipes up, and Dean turns back to him.

“Yeah?”

“Believe it or not, hosting Leviathan is much more painful than teaching a room full of seventh graders every day,” says Cas quite frankly.

The way Cas always speaks.

“You like it here?” Dean asks then.

“I think so,” Cas nods. “I’m a good teacher, we have a nice house, we have a good kid, and,” he pauses, glancing over at Gabriel.

Gabriel rolls his eyes and covers his ears.

Castiel continues, “And I had you. That was the most important part.”

Dean licks his lips and looks up at their water stained ceiling.

There’s a water stain in the shape of a dick just above the couch.

Fucking Gabriel.

“Hunters don’t get to have this, Cas,” Dean finally says. “Not really. Eventually, someone ends up dead and the other one ends up vengeful. And even if it worked out for someone somewhere out there, it wouldn’t work for me, okay? Shit doesn’t work for me. That’s how it’s always been, that’s how it always will be.”

“You still haven’t answered me, Dean,” Castiel points out. “Is this something you want?”

Dean looks from Jack, to their dining room table, to the carpet beneath his feet.

And then he looks back up at Cas.

“Having you was the best part of this whole thing,” he admits.

Everything dissolves around them, and Dean whips around. Even Jack disintegrates, and Dean finds himself pitching forward, trying to grab onto him.

Like it would’ve made any difference whatsoever. Like he wasn’t just something sprung out of the mind of a sadistic shithead angel.

Nope. Now it’s just them, the three of them, left in the crappy motel room they fell asleep in. 

Dean lets out a long, shaky breath.

But there’s Cas’ hand on his back and his warmth looming so close to him.

“Dean?”

He whips around and envelops Cas in a bone-crushing hug.

God, he wasn’t fake at least.

Dean holds him by his face just to be sure, and asks, “You saw all that, right?”

Cas nods.

“Including your fucktard, asshat brother back there,” Dean just wants to make sure.

“Yes, Dean.”

“Good,” Dean nods, and brings their lips together.

It’s even more intoxicating than it was before, like the perfect amount of the best whiskey on the planet.

Except this is Cas, his best friend.

The man he loves.

“Fuck,” he pulls back.

“All righty, boys,” Gabriel claps his hands together. “I’m just gonna get out of your hair before I get caught up watching… this.”

“Hey, Gabriel—“ Castiel tries to interject, but with a flap of his wings he’s gone. “Shit.”

“Uh, you mind if we just,” Dean gestures to the bed. “Can we just sleep, please? I gotta get my body back to neutral after whatever the fuck that was.”

Castiel nods and Dean flops down onto the bed without another word. Castiel sits beside him.

“It occurs to me that I don’t sleep outside of Gabriel’s sphere of influence,” he says. 

“Then will you just shut the fuck up and _hold_ me or something?” Dean’s voice wavers, and no.

He is not going to fucking cry about this.

“Come here,” Cas says softly then, and he rearranges them until Dean is tucked against his chest, soaking in his warmth, his smell, just the feeling of having Cas against him.

He hadn’t been lying.

The house, the kid, the job, the life?

The best part about the whole thing was getting to fall asleep against Castiel like this every night.

Safe.

Secure. 

And, god help him, _loved_.

 


End file.
